


Shared Sorrows, Shared Warmth

by Softchelles



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Spiderman Shenannigans, bonding in a graveyard, not to be confused with boning in a graveyard, that is NOT what is happening here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softchelles/pseuds/Softchelles
Summary: Peter's out on patrol one day and Michelle looks upset.And Spider-man helps people.So naturally he should help her....ORMichelle's sad. And cold.But at least she's not alone.





	Shared Sorrows, Shared Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I'm sorry. There's very little editing because honestly, I really do sit down down to try and proofread. But I start to hate literally everything about my writing if I start to really think about it, so usually it doesn't get published. And for some unexplainable reason there's a few of you who want to continue to read these things I try and write, so I'm gonna just do my best and not think about it too much.
> 
> I have some sort of Christmas themed kind of thing in the works. 
> 
> But this piece didn't really fit in with what I'm hoping(!!!!) to accomplish (and you can kind of highkey tell because I think there's still a bit alluding to a thing I was planning, but I didn't know how to rework that scene without scrapping this entire piece so I'm just like EH WHO CARES OH WELL) 
> 
> So now I'm here and I'm posting it anyways.
> 
> So yeah! Peter doing Spider-man things, seeing a very distraught Michelle Jones, and being far too nosey to let it go...
> 
> followed by these two being sad and keeping each other warm. 
> 
> Sorry for the garbage.  
> You can find me @softchelles on twitter.
> 
> Kthxbye

There were a lot of reasons Peter was forever indebted to Tony Stark, but thinking to put a heater in his suit was definitely in his top five. It didn’t help that the radioactive spider responsible for his powers seemed to have passed on his inability to thermoregulate because Peter was freezing *all the time*. But the suit helped. It kept him nice and warm and able to go out and patrol on a day like today, a day when the streets were covered in snow and filled with people also struggling to stay warm, bundled up in layers upon layers and hustling more than usual to get to where they were going so they could get inside and escape the bitter cold. 

 

No, he was lucky for the suit. He was lucky for the heater. He was lucky for Mr. Stark. And he was lucky that he was able to spot the early signs of a crime. 

 

Like the one unfolding on the street below him.

 

He had learned the tells fairly early into his superhero gig. The victim, a woman, caught up in her phone and completely oblivious to the man behind her. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat, which could have been due to the weather. But there was also the part where he kept checking over his shoulder before returning his focus back on the woman, following her intensely, just steps behind as she was blissfully unaware of what was to come.

 

But it wouldn’t happen. 

 

Not if Spider-Man had a say in it.

 

He jumped to his feet and paused for a moment, tilting his head and reveling in the feeling of the joints in his neck cracking into place. “Show time.” 

 

And with that he was leaping off the building, into the air. With a flick of the wrist he was shooting a web. It attached to the side of a building at just the right angle so that he skidded into a light jog when his feet hit the ground. He kept the momentum, running to catch up with the man. 

 

He watched it unfold just as he predicted, the rough push as the man ripped the purse from her shoulder. Her screech as she caught onto what was happening. 

 

“Hey buddy, I don’t think that belongs to you!” he yelled, sending a web towards the guy. It latched onto the purse, pulling the man abruptly back as he tried to run. The criminal staggered back, and despite his best attempt to regain his balance, gravity won and he slid across a patch of ice onto the ground. 

 

And so he slowed down from a jog to a casual stroll, lifting the purse off the ground as the disoriented man on the ground groaned and tried to come to terms with his plans being thwarted.

 

“Here you go, ma’am,” Peter smiled through the mask— which was kind of pointless, if he really thought about it— as he handed her back her bag. 

 

“Thank you, Spider-man. Thank you so much,” the woman breathed, clutching her purse tightly against her chest.

 

“It’s no problem. And as for you—“

 

But when he turned around, the man was already half a block away. And he was still running.

 

“Oh, come on dude. Really? You’re going to make this difficult?” Peter asked, sprinting after him. The man glanced over his shoulder, picking up speed before turning a corner. 

 

But the guy wasn’t fast enough.

 

And now Spider-man had him trapped in an alley, with nowhere else to go. 

 

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble—“ the guy insisted, holding his hands up in defense.

 

“You really should’ve thought about that before.” 

 

With a quick couple of thwips, the man was webbed up against the wall. Despite his struggling, the webbing wouldn’t be dissolving for at least another two hours, maybe even longer. There was no telling how the cold weather affected the dissolving process. That was really something he should test out. But it would be long enough for the authorities to find the guy, tied up like a Christmas gift— complete with a heartfelt note.

 

‘Tried to steal a lady’s purse. Definitely not his first offense. Happy holidays. Your pal, Spider-Man.’

 

“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna get it,” the trapped man called from his position as Peter started to walk away. “You’re gonna meddle in someone else’s business, and they’re not gonna be too happy about it.”

 

Peter kept walking, not even looking back as he shot a final web in the man’s direction. The muffled yelling meant he hit his target. That would shut him up until the cops arrived.

 

And after that, it was a pretty chill day (no winter pun intended). He helped a couple old folks cross the streets (it was hard enough when the crosswalks weren’t frozen over), he reunited a little boy with his lost cat (who was holed up in a dumpster, trying to find shelter from the cold). There was nothing too exciting after that.

 

Except for MJ.

 

He had to do a double take, even though he knew it was her. He’d know that mess of curls anywhere, even if it was hundreds of feet below him, blowing all over the place as the wind whipped at her face while she stood on the curb.

 

He expected her to cross the street, because the pedestrian light turned on and that’s what all the people around her did. But she stood firm, arms wrapped around her frame while she glanced around her as if she was waiting for something. 

 

He watched from afar as she stayed in the same spot, even after given several different chances to cross the road, occasionally checking her phone and looking up, shoulders sagging each time she didn’t find whoever it was she was looking for.

 

It was getting late. The sun had started setting a while ago, and soon it would be night time. And yet, she didn’t move. It had been a solid 20 minutes and still there was nothing.

 

It was at the half hour mark that she finally lifted the phone to make a call.

 

“Hey Karen—“ Peter called out. There was a whirring in his ears as the AI revved to life. 

 

“Good evening, Peter.”

 

“Hey, hi. See if you can help me figure out what’s going on down there.”

 

“Of course. Activating enhanced reconnaissance mode.”

 

He focused in on Michelle just in time to hear her start talking. “Hey. It’s me. I don’t know if you’re running late, or if you just forgot buuuut... I’m just gonna head home. Or, you know actually, forget it. I have a thing to go to. I’ll be home— eventually. Or— whatever. Ugh. Bye.” 

 

“It would seem Miss Jones is in distress,” Karen informed him.

 

It didn’t take the interface to figure that one out. Michelle was sniffling, wiping at her eyes and starting to walk up the sidewalk.

 

“She’s upset,” Peter added. “I should check on her, right? I mean, she’s in distress. And that’s what I do... not that I think she’s some sort of damsel in distress, or anything weird like that. She’s just obviously upset. And even if she wasn’t my friend, that’s something Spider-Man would be concerned about. Right?”

 

“I believe so,” Karen agreed.

 

“Right. I’m gonna go do that,” he announced, shooting a web and following at a safe distance.

 

It turns out, he wouldn’t be following her for long. Because after a few turns, he started to recognize their surroundings. There was a sickening twist in his stomach as the pieces started to connect. He knew *exactly* where they were going.

 

He lowered himself onto the ground, ducking behind a tree as Michelle stepped into the cemetery. It’s the cemetery he visited many times before, sometimes with May. Sometimes alone. 

 

It’s the cemetery Michelle steps into on her own now.

 

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should proceed. Did she want to be alone? It didn’t seem like it. Hadn’t she been on the phone, waiting for someone to go with her? Unless this was the other thing she had to go do. 

 

He continued to debate with himself as he silently inched closer towards the grave she was kneeling at. 

 

Not silent enough, apparently.

 

“How did you even find me?” she sighed. The question was directed at him, even though she kept her eyes on the headstone. 

 

“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugged, which elicited a broken laugh from the girl on the ground. 

 

“Very funny,” she retorted, clearly catching onto his Spider-Man reference.

 

“I’m serious! I was!” Peter laughed as he pulled his mask up over his head. It was okay. She knew. He knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew that she knew. And it was too dark for anyone who didn’t know to see, so it didn’t really matter. 

 

Htepped forward until he was towering over her, which was new. Usually it was the other way around.

 

But at this angle, he could see the words engraved on the stone perfectly.

 

In loving memory

Madeline Jones

 

“Oh,” he whispered, kneeling down on the ground next to her. 

 

“Yeah,” she breathed, chewing at her bottom lip while nodding.

 

“Em I—“ Peter struggled to find words. “I had no idea.”

 

“It’s okay. I didn’t want you to.”

 

“I’m sorry I followed you. That wasn’t cool.”

 

“No, it’s fine. If I didn’t want you knowing now, I would’ve stopped you from following me way earlier.” The corners of her mouth twitched momentarily, the ghost of a smile flickering across her face. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.” 

 

This time Peter chuckled before they fell into a somber filled silence. 

 

“Sometimes, I’m not sure if I miss her.” The words were quiet, a whispered confession. Like they were thoughts she had been too scared to formulate until now. “The truth is I didn’t know her. But maybe I could have. Maybe things could’ve been a lot different.”

 

“Your dad...?” Peter guessed. He only had bits and pieces, scraps of context clues from the small glimpses into her personal life she so carefully guarded, and yet somehow started to trust him with.

 

“He’s supposed to be here with me. He’s supposed to be a lot of things.” There was a sadness in her tone so heavy and palpable it almost engulfed him completely. He wondered how long she had been drowning in it alone.

 

“I’m so sorry.” 

 

“Yeah...” There was another sniffle. This time it was followed by a tear that slowly fell down the side of her face. It was only when he nearly reached out to wipe it from her cheek that he realized her teeth were chattering. She was shaking.

 

Shivering.

 

Cold.

 

“You must be freezing!”

 

Michelle shook her head weakly. “No I’m fine. It’s fine.”

 

But he wasn’t buying it.

 

“No it’s not. And no you’re not,” he argued. Before she could protest, before he could think long enough to hesitate and delay his impulse decision, Peter wrapped her up in a hug. 

 

“What are you— oh.” It was almost instantaneous, the heat radiating from his body transferring to hers, warming the trembling girl in his arms.

 

Oh.

 

She was in his arms.

 

“Yeah, uh... Mr. Stark did that,” Peter explained as he shifted awkwardly in an attempt to try and find a more comfortable position.

 

It got a lot easier when she leaned back against his chest, letting out a soft sigh as she did so, as if she was melting in his arms. 

 

“I’m sorry about your uncle.” 

 

It was so abrupt and unexpected and yet he wasn’t thrown off. That was something they had yet to really talk about. He knew she knew. The whole school new. Peter came back from winter break several days after everyone else, and by that time the news of his uncle’s death had spread like wildfire. 

 

But somehow in the development from classmates to teammates to friends it just never came up. 

 

“Thank you.” He was oddly relaxed, even with Michelle Jones in his lap. They sat alone together, soaking in the heat from his suit, finding warmth and comfort in an otherwise cold and dark place.

 

“He helped me once.” 

 

At that point Michelle had started absentmindedly messing with his fingers. They were right there in front of her as his arms held her tightly. So she trailed over them with her own, running her thumb over the lining of his suit, tracing patterns into the palms of his hand. It was soft and it was intimate and they had never been like this before. And yet, he didn’t mind. 

 

“You forgot your lunch, so he brought it for you,” she continued. “And he must have seen that I didn’t have mine. So he bought me some, too.” 

 

“Yeah.” There was a small on his face, filled with sentiment, filled with nostalgia, filled with sorrow, as he pictured it in his mind. Peter hadn’t seen it happen but could so clearly imagine it— a young Michelle sitting in the corner, hiding behind a mop of curls. But not hiding well enough, because Ben had seen her and made the decision to step in and help. He was always doing that— recognizing the privilege and power he’d been given and feeling morally obligated to use it to help others less fortunate than them. It’s not like the Parkers were rich. They were living just below comfortable. But there were so many people who had it worse, and Ben believed they had the power to help where they could.

 

With great power came great responsibility.

 

And he must have used that power to make sure a little girl got a hot lunch that day. 

 

“That sounds like him.”

 

“He was a good guy.” Her fingers stopped twiddling with his. Instead they intertwined completely. “So are you.”

 

“I try to be.” And he did. He really, truly did. Everything Peter was had been shaped by his uncle. He tried his hardest to be the man Ben Parker wanted him to be. “I think she would be proud of you. Even if things are bad, you aren’t.” Michelle sat up, twisting in his arms so that she could meet his eyes. Her right eyebrow quirked in disbelief, an expression he had seen many times before. But there was something new across her face. An earnest curiosity for what he had to say instead of the warning signs of an upcoming roast. So Peter continued. “You’re smart. And you’re talented. And you’re good. God. You’re incredible.” The words fell from his lips before he could really fully process them, as if the compliments were being stored somewhere deep within the shadows of his heart and waiting for a moment like this to emerge into the light. “And you’re beautiful. Not just because you’re pretty— which, you are. I’m not saying you’re not. I’m just saying you’re a beautiful person. I really think she’d be proud of you.”

 

Peter sure was.

 

Michelle’s smile spread as if warmed by his answer before she fell back against his chest once more. This time it wasn’t because she was freezing. This time it felt like it was simply because she wanted to.

 

“Thanks, dork.”

 

It was so dumb, but so soft, and such a typical Michelle response to the unexpected explosion of compliments he'd hit her with. It made him smile back. She couldn't see it, not with her leaning against his chest, with her eyes closing softly to just bask in this moment between them. But still he smiled down at Michelle-- at the miracle of a woman that was the daughter of Madeline Jones.

 

It suddenly clicked where her name came from. 

 

“Anytime, MJ.”


End file.
